


Donation Gift Collection

by robocryptid



Series: Tumblr/Twitter Ficlets and Drabbles [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Holding Hands, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pegging, Polyamory, Suggestive Themes, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Collection of ficlets and drabbles written as gifts for donations to organizations supporting Black Lives Matter.Ch. 1: McHanzo, patching wounds (Teen+)Ch. 2: Genciotiste, gaming distractions (Mature)Ch. 3: Ashkande, pegging (Explicit)Ch. 4: Genciotiste, shenanigans (Teen+)Ch. 5: Jack & Jesse, bonding (Teen+)Ch. 6: Reaper76 POV for "Climbing the Walls" (Teen+)Ch. 7: Spiderbyte, Widow impressed by Sombra's haxx (Teen+)Ch. 8: McHanzo, first kiss on impulse (Teen+)
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada, Jesse McCree & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Series: Tumblr/Twitter Ficlets and Drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/979284
Comments: 53
Kudos: 330





	1. McHanzo, patching wounds

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for ways to support Black Lives Matter, consider donating to the bail fund for protesters in your area or your closest metropolitan area. For other ideas, the Minnesota Freedom Fund has been overloaded with donations and has requested we all redirect funds to the following organizations: [Black Visions Collective](https://t.co/YqYoYeWF5r?amp=1), [Reclaim the Block](https://t.co/uf7Xp2mfDs?amp=1), [North Star Health Collective](https://t.co/u7aEZT8uAE?amp=1), and [Louisville Bail Fund](https://t.co/eAtSuBjD5i?amp=1).
> 
> \--
> 
> Prompt 1, for offwimits, is McHanzo, "one of them patching up the other's wounds"

“Reckless,” Hanzo mutters. His fingers prod at Jesse’s ribs, eliciting a gasp that just makes them hurt again.

“Didn’t you scale a forty-foot wall without gear today? I don’t wanna hear it.” The space is cramped, and they can’t risk turning on lights or air just yet. It’s hot as hell, and that’s with his shirt open. It’s also distracting as hell to have Hanzo’s hands on him. Hanzo’s fingers dig in again, and Jesse grunts. “Don’t think they’re broken. Quit poking.”

“I will try to show less concern for your well-being next time.” He leaves off with the ribs, then he grabs Jesse’s arm, looking him over with his hands as much as with his eyes. There’s a gash running the length of Jesse’s forearm, but it’s shallow and the bleeding has stopped. Same goes for the scratch over his eyebrow. Hanzo touches his face, takes him by the jaw in a grip that’s probably meant to be gentle, and carefully turns his head this way and that, looking for more injuries. “Superficial,” Hanzo murmurs, then he digs through the emergency pack to at least wipe down the scrapes and scratches he found, smear some ointment on them. 

The one over Jesse’s eyebrow stings, a sharper pain than his ribs, despite that it isn’t nearly as bad. He hisses and Hanzo pauses. 

“It’s fine,” Jesse assures him. “I hate that shit.” He gestures at the antiseptic wipe. 

“Ah.” Hanzo takes him by the hand then, and Jesse freezes for different reasons. 

“I can do this part.”

“I’m already here.” Hanzo doesn’t let go. He’s careful as he pries dirt and grit and tiny pebbles from the deep scrape on Jesse’s palm, and Jesse does his best to keep still, to prevent the reflexive curl and twitch of his fingers. This injury gets wiped down and smeared with ointment too, and a bandage that probably won’t stick for longer than an hour. 

Jesse’s knuckles are next, bloodied and bruised from the scuffle after he lost his gun, just before Hanzo put an arrow through the necks of three enemy combatants. This part is so unnecessary. The scrapes are shallow. They’ll heal with time. It’s not the first and won’t be the last time Jesse’s had to nurse this kind of injury. 

He doesn’t say any of this though, transfixed instead by the sight of Hanzo’s rough fingers moving gently over his own, taking the time to care for each knuckle individually. It figures this is the kind of field medicine he’d be best at; Jesse knows he and Genji have been training in CQC practically since birth. 

His head is bent, so he won’t be able to see that Jesse can’t look away. It’s hard to imagine he can’t hear the sound of Jesse’s thundering heartbeat or quick, shallow breathing, though. It’s ridiculous. They’re still in a hostile zone; they won’t be safe until extraction. Jesse’s attention should definitely be on the door or the window, on listening for sounds at the stairwell or the fire escape, but he can’t look away from Hanzo’s hands on his, gentler than Jesse would have expected. 

Hanzo finishes and runs his thumb over Jesse’s knuckles, checking his work. Then he turns Jesse’s hand over, smoothing the bandage over his palm. 

Jesse’s not prepared for Hanzo to look up. Their eyes catch, and Hanzo glances away quickly, guiltily. His cheeks are flushed. 

Jesse has a hunch about something, and he needs to know if he’s right. His hand closes around Hanzo’s; Hanzo startles but doesn’t pull away. “Got any I need to—”

“No.” Hanzo answers too quickly, practically vibrating like he’s ready to bolt.

Slowly, almost afraid to spook him, Jesse’s metal fingers curl into the fabric of Hanzo’s gi. Jesse uses the grip to straighten himself, but the longer he holds it, the more Hanzo bends. 

“Thank you,” Jesse says, voice coming out too hushed, cracking in his dry throat. Hanzo’s eyes shut, and he nods. The motion makes clear how close their faces are; his nose nearly bumps Jesse’s cheek. “C’mere,” Jesse murmurs, unnecessary at this point because Hanzo’s already leaning. 

Jesse kisses him, and maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he shouldn’t do it. Maybe there will be consequences later. But Hanzo’s fingers twitch in his hand, and Hanzo’s palm slides along Jesse’s ribs, and Hanzo’s lips are so, so soft, careful against his. He’s more tender than Jesse would have predicted. It feels like Hanzo’s capacity for gentleness is becoming a theme, and Jesse wonders if it’s always there or if it’s special, just for him, but he’s not going to risk ruining the moment by asking. He’s not breaking this kiss. Not yet. 


	2. Genciotiste, gaming distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians), who once prompted me with "Baptiste & Genji playing games, Lucio gives Bap the advantage by distracting Genji"

“How the— That has to be cheating.” Baptiste huffs, fingers loosening around his controller one by one, like he really has to think about it to make it happen.

Genji’s grinning though, triumphant and shit-eating. He always gets like this, like he forgets that maybe Lúcio and Baptiste didn’t ever have that much interest in video games until he came along. He’s always going to have the advantage, even before they factor in the whole “superhuman reflexes” thing. There’s no reason to be cocky about it. 

Lúcio watches Baptiste breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth, like he’s trying to center himself the way he does when he tries to join Genji for meditation. He watches Genji preen like it isn’t  _ well-established  _ that the one of them who’s been playing video games his whole life is gonna be the better player. He watches them both select their characters for another round, and he sighs.

Genji crows as his skinny ninja girl — with tits bigger than her head, because  _ of course  _ Genji would pick that one — juggles Baptiste’s lurching old man in the air, depleting nearly the entirety of Baptiste’s health bar in one horrifying series of mashed buttons. The round is over almost as quickly as it started. Genji makes a face that is probably supposed to be playful concern, but he just looks like a jackass. “Aww, you’ll get it. Don’t get so distracted by the jiggle physics.”

“The hell are jiggle physics?” Baptiste mutters. Genji snickers, then they begin again.

Seeing Genji smile is great and all, but so is knocking him down a peg or two, especially when Baptiste doesn’t deserve this and is being a damn good sport, all things considered. Lúcio really wasn’t going to intervene, but Genji’s brief victory dance when he inevitably stomps Baptiste again is too much to take. 

“Having fun?” Lúcio asks, sliding onto the couch.

“One of us is,” Baptiste says from the other side of Genji. It’s probably supposed to be teasing, but there’s a note of very real frustration in it. 

Lúcio starts small. First he asks Genji what the name of each move is, getting automatic, almost robotic — hah — answers that clearly don’t require an ounce of thought. Then he asks why her boobs are so big. Then he asks anything he can think of: how long Genji has played this game, this franchise, who his other favorite characters are, what it means when the game shows score multipliers, what the story is supposed to be. None of these do quite as much as they should, although he can see Genji beginning to clench his jaw. Baptiste’s character lands a few extra hits. 

When he runs out of questions, Lúcio puts a hand on Genji’s thigh, fingers squeezing lightly every time he thinks there’s some series of buttons Genji’s really working at. He watches the character stutter, the chain of movements interrupted, and he bites his lip to keep from grinning. Baptiste wins a round, but not the whole fight. 

He glances at Lúcio from behind Genji’s back, one eyebrow raised, and Lúcio does grin then. Baptiste doesn’t complain though, or call him out for anything. He just hits the button to say he’s ready for another go.

Lúcio’s fingers creep higher on Genji’s thigh, until even Genji gives him a sideways, suspicious look, but by then it’s too late. Genji has to focus on the screen or lose. As soon as his gaze turns back to the holoscreen, Lúcio leans in, nose brushing up the side of Genji’s neck to his earlobe. Genji twitches, shying away until he has to stop himself in order to focus. Lúcio’s fingers squeeze and his teeth close gently on Genji’s earlobe, and Baptiste gives a victorious shout. 

Genji seems to stabilize, no longer surprised even if his breath  _ is  _ coming faster, so Lúcio goes for the last resort: he sticks his hand inside Genji’s armor, reaching down to cup between his legs, and Genji breathes out so hard he almost dislodges Lúcio with only a breath. His thighs spread like he really doesn’t want them to, and his weight shifts subtly. When Lúcio backs away enough to look, Genji’s biting his lip, eyebrows drawn down as he tries desperately to concentrate. 

Baptiste shouts again and leaps to his feet, and Lúcio’d make fun of him for the dance, but it’s well deserved at this point. Lúcio lets Genji go and backs off.

“Cheaters,” Genji mutters.

Lúcio kisses him on the cheek. “You were being an ass.” When Genji turns his head to argue, Lúcio gives him a quick peck on the lips instead. “You want more where that came from, you have to reward both of us for putting up with you first.” He’s teasing when he says it, but Genji still takes it to heart, dropping to his knees on the floor with a smirk.


	3. Ashkande, pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [Theoroark](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/works), who wanted Ashkande pegging. This one is NSFW, perhaps obviously.

If anyone accuses her of growing too soft, she knows who to blame. 

Not that softness is always bad. Tenderness can be necessary after too many long days in a harsh world. But there are people who would assume it is weakness, and there are times she thinks they would assume correctly, at least where _he_ is involved.

She likes to take her time with Akande, long fingers dancing over his skin, the muscle dense and rippling, scars a reminder of all the things he has overcome. There is so much of him to map out, and she thinks — worries, sometimes — that she will never tire of this sort of cartography. Despite what others might think, despite the image that she cultivates, she is capable of being gentle. That is not what tonight is meant for, though.

Tonight she leaves red lipstick stains on his skin and digs her fingers into the muscle of his thighs as she settles between his legs. He rests one hand in her hair, big fingers tangling in the strands in spite of his best efforts. He’s the one who wanted it rougher this time, but he keeps defaulting to the sweeter gestures anyway. As with too many of the things he does, it surprises her and leaves her overcome with affection.

She leans closer, teeth sinking into his chest through the red lace he wore for her. She drags her tongue over it, feels the netting catch on his nipple, and he leans into it with a sigh. The lace scrapes lightly against her tongue; she can only imagine what it must feel like on spit-slick, sensitive skin. 

She reaches between them, carefully adjusting the toy between her legs, slippery with lube that glides over the bumps and ridges of it. She wants to touch _him_ more, but she has to do this first. She holds it tightly to guide it as she pushes slow and steady.

Akande’s brow knits at the beginning while she does her best to ease the way in. His jaw clenches for a moment, and then his mouth falls open and his face relaxes. He is beautiful like this, his head falling back as she begins to rock inside him. 

Now that she is in, she can touch him again. She slides her hands up twitching abs and along ridged obliques, grasping at his muscular chest, and back down over hips and powerful thighs. She squeezes her fingers here, uses the grip to pull them up higher around her, then she braces one hand on the bed by his hip, and she really begins to move.

He curses and sighs and grasps at her in return, a hand at her back, an ankle hooking just under her ass to egg her on, force her deeper. She adjusts her grip and her weight, and she doubles down on her efforts, fucking roughly into him until he is panting, arching, body trembling beneath her.

She reaches between them again, this time to touch him with her clever, calloused fingers. His hips jerk into her touch, and his hand slides up her back, digging in at the shoulder and nearly pulling her off balance. She rights herself and keeps moving, thighs burning with the effort and refusing to give in to the strain. When he comes, it’s with another curse and a tremble that wracks his whole body. 

He holds her closely until he is finished. Once she has carefully eased out of him, he sighs, relieved and relaxed now. Then he puts her on her back and buries his face between her legs, refusing to come up for air until she is barely coherent and aching with overstimulation.

She lies in bed beside him, head propped on one hand while she touches him just to touch. He smiles sleepily and pushes the hair out of her face, traces her jaw with a fingertip. She’d never admit to anyone else, but this might be her favorite part.


	4. Genciotiste, shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is for coinin, who gave me only the one-word prompt, "shenanigans"

“What are you thinking for dinner?” Lúcio asks for what feels like the thirtieth time.

“I don’t know. Where do you wanna go?” Genji lifts his head long enough to answer and shrug, then he bends back over the tiny desk, skimming through options on his phone. 

Baptiste stares at the ceiling, watching the slow, lazy swirl of the overhead fan. “Curry,” he suggests.

“Didn’t we do that last week?” Lúcio asks.

“Greek.”

“I can’t think of anything I would be in the mood for,” Genji says.

Baptiste grits his teeth. He reminds himself that he loves them both. Then he begins listing countries at random, as he thinks of them, until they have rejected at least three continents’ worth of regional cuisine. 

“I don’t know,” Lúcio says. 

“Roll a die. Flip a coin. I don’t  _ care,  _ but please, pick something.”

“Geez, okay,” Lúcio mutters, then he and Genji put their heads together. Baptiste swears he hears one of them use the word  _ hangry,  _ then they both turn back to him.

“Pizza,” Genji announces very firmly. 

Baptiste groans, but he doesn’t protest the choice. He wants to, but then he would be just as bad as the two of them. So he keeps his mouth shut and he agrees on pizza. 

When they get to the pizza place, it’s closed. Not for the evening, but for good. They all pause on the sidewalk, exchanging glances. They have to be thinking the same thing: it took over an hour to decide where to eat. None of them wants to do it again, Baptiste least of all. 

He doesn’t really believe in a higher power, but every now and then, he wonders. Like now, when he glances just beyond Genji’s head to a polished wooden sign, haloed by the late setting sun. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t even speak, just grabs each of them by the arm and steers them toward the pub. 

“Shenanigans?” Genji asks.

“Pretty sure that’s the name of, like, a solid third of the Irish pubs I’ve seen,” Lúcio says with a grin.

“Original or not, that’s where we’re eating,” Baptiste practically growls.

“So bossy when you’re hungry.” Lúcio’s definitely laughing at him, but Baptiste can smell the food and his stomach is starting to make noises.

“I like it,” Genji says. 

As if the promise of food is all it takes, Baptiste’s mood improves the instant they enter the pub, and it only gets better when he realizes it means he can get a beer too. It’s no rum runner, but it will do in a pinch. 

By the end of their meal, he’s sated and happy. Then Genji asks, “What would we like to do on our day off tomorrow?”

Lúcio says, “I don’t know. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, that is why I asked.”

Baptiste groans, and he hopes the proprietor forgives him for the loud thunk of his forehead hitting the table.


	5. Jack & Jesse, bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jesse, goofing off and/or bonding for [Swagreus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/works). I'm not sure I fully got the "goofing off" bit in, but I do like where it went!

Morrison is the last person he wants to spend time with. It’s not that Jesse hates him. It’s just that he’s got this air about him, somewhere between the hardass ex-military boneheads he’d always run into down at the hardware store and the cops he’d been doing his best to avoid since he was fourteen. The haircut and the too-square jaw and the perfect stick-up-the-ass posture struck a nerve the day they met, and Jesse hasn’t shaken it. 

What is Overwatch anyway if not a bunch of glorified cops? And Morrison’s right there at the head of it all. 

Now he wants to see Jesse. It feels a lot like being called to the principal’s office, except Jesse hasn’t put a toe out of line in _weeks,_ and usually when he does, it’s Reyes who deals with him. That was Morrison’s call, right after he accused Reyes of picking up strays. That might’ve stuck with Jesse too. 

“You asked to see me?” Jesse asks, tacking on a belated, “Sir.”

Morrison waves a hand dismissively. “Sit down.” Jesse doesn’t know what to make of it, but there’s no point arguing with him. He sits, rubbing his palms along the weird, dense fabric of the armchair facing Morrison’s desk. Morrison stares at him for a second, looking like he’s forgotten why Jesse’s here before he says, “They’re gonna be alright.”

“Beg your pardon? Uh, sir.”

“Quit that.” Morrison sighs. “The first time is always tough. Watching your friends go on a mission.”

Jesse scoffs, slouching into the chair. “Not like it’s my ass on the line.” He winces. “Butt.” That’s probably not better. “It’s not me.”

“Well, just in case. If you were wondering if it’s the last time you’ll see them. It’s not. They’ll be back.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Ana _or_ Gabriel could do this mission in their sleep, and we have both of them out there.” Morrison looks uncomfortable. “Sooner or later, you get used to the idea that they might not come back. But they will this time.” 

Truthfully, Jesse finds it comforting. He’s been anxious since they left yesterday. Amari’s nice. Not her fault he’s here anyway. He doesn’t want anything to happen to her. Reyes is more complicated, but Jesse doesn’t want him _dead._ It’s funny that it had to come from Morrison, but it’s a nice enough thing to say. 

“Thanks, I guess,” Jesse says. “I… guess I was kinda worried. A little.” He lets out a nervous, trembling laugh. “Could go for a drink right about now.”

Morrison’s eyes narrow like maybe Jesse’s in trouble, or maybe the guy’s just thinking. “You’re eighteen now, right?”

“Yep,” Jesse says. Morrison squints at him again like he knows he’s lying, but that doesn’t stop him from unlocking a cabinet behind his desk and pouring two glasses of what smells like whiskey. “Wait, really?”

“Switzerland,” Morrison says with a shrug. “You like card games?”

Jesse does, and first Morrison teaches him a game he says they played back when he was in the military, one that Jesse’s quick hands make him pretty good at. When his face is warm and cheeks numb and he can’t stop the loose bubbling of his laugh, they switch to War. It’s slower paced and entirely about luck, and it keeps him occupied until, late into the night, Morrison gets the call that says they’re on their way home. 

Jesse watches Morrison’s face harden and cloud over; there were casualties. But it’s Amari’s rich voice on the other end of the receiver, and when Morrison asks about Reyes, it turns out he’s fine too. He relays all of this to Jesse, then he smiles grimly. “See, kid? Just like I said. Those two could survive the apocalypse.” 

Later, Morrison will be gruff with him, and blunt to the point of rudeness. He’ll give orders Jesse hates, make the wrong calls or make the right calls for reasons Jesse can’t stand. But when other newbies roll their eyes or make up dumb nicknames, Jesse won’t join in. He’ll remember that night when Morrison went out of his way to make it easier, out of compassion or a sense of duty. Told Jesse that it was okay to be afraid, that sometimes people just don’t come home, but that most of the time, they do.


	6. Reaper76 POV, "Climbing the Walls"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For sKsNinja, who wanted some Jack & Gabe POV of [Climbing the Walls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257242), a McHanzo quarantine fic feat. background Spiderbyte & Reaper76. This one is instead R76 with background McHanzo, but probably won't make much sense without having read the other fic.

In some ways, quarantine is like a glimpse at what retirement’s going to feel like. Gabe hates it. 

Sure, it gives him a head start on this year’s Halloween planning, and they can finally clean out the guest room closet they’ve been using to store all the shit they don’t need. They scratch a few movies off their bucket list. Scratch a few things off their bedroom bucket list, too. 

But the novelty of it all can’t last. There’s a strange fatigue, a listlessness that comes with being trapped inside. There’s a very real concern that underpins all the experimenting too, that lends every distraction this undercurrent of desperation — anything to avoid confronting their own mortality again, anything to avoid worrying about their friends and families and the state of the world. 

Not for the first time, Jesse makes for an _excellent_ distraction. Watching him fumble through talking to his neighbor is better than the reality TV Jack keeps on for background noise. 

Maybe the fumbling is his and Jack’s fault. Maybe Jesse would’ve been perfectly neighborly if they hadn’t mentioned that the guy is built like a brick shithouse. Gabe has to squint to cover the distance — which he does not admit to Jack, because he doesn’t want to be nagged about getting his eyes checked _again_ — but he learns the face isn’t half bad either. 

“You learn his name yet?” Gabe pries.

“Why, you tryin’ to run a background check?” Jesse looks up, his tell for when he’s afraid the neighbor’s going to overhear him. The man in question isn’t even out there right now, but Gabe doesn’t mention that.

“Maybe I wanna know what to call him when Jack and I invite him over.”

Jesse sputters, then he levels a glare that reads perfectly clearly even at a distance. “Now I’m definitely not tellin’.” 

“Thought you didn’t care. No reason for that to matter to you, right?” Gabe hides his grin in his coffee cup.

“Shut up, old man,” Jesse says weakly, reminiscent of the teenager he met all those years ago. Gabe would bet money he’s blushing.

Jack’s hands slip around his waist, then there’s a press of lips against his shoulder. “Can’t believe you started winding him up without me,” he murmurs into Gabe’s ear. More loudly, for Jesse’s sake, he says, “We just want to know about your new friend.”

“Sure.” Jesse doesn’t sound convinced.

“You could introduce us,” Jack continues. “So we could—”

“Gabe _just_ tried that one. I hate both of you.”

“Just saying, if it doesn’t matter to you, there’s no harm in telling us his name.” Gabe waits, watching Jesse squirm with indecision. It’s not like it lasts a _long_ time, but it’s long enough that he starts to wonder if Jesse’s crush is worse than they thought. It’s not enough to make him feel guilty for the teasing, but still, he does feel a tiny twinge.

“Hanzo,” Jesse says, hushed like it’s a secret. “But yes, fine, I might be sort of into him.” Jack goes tense against Gabe’s back, and a quick glance shows that the man of the hour has just stepped out onto his balcony. Gabe thinks about saying something, but Jesse keeps going. “So I’d appreciate if you could _not_ with all that. You know I don’t really… It’s been a while, okay?” Gabe would like to think he’s only talking about sex, but that’s never made Jesse half this skittish. “And I haven’t even seen him, and that makes it feel like… more real? I don’t know, I’m still figurin’ it out, so I don’t need anybody else gettin’ in my head about it.”

Well, damn. It is definitely worse than they thought. Jack’s quiet laugh in his ear sounds stunned. 

“Alright,” Gabe agrees easily enough. 

“You know what else—”

“Might wanna hold that thought,” Jack says. Jesse starts, and his head jerks upward again, eyes on the floor above him, where Hanzo is moving around. “Yeah, that.”

They let him off the phone, then Gabe turns to his husband with a sigh. “Good for him, I guess, but what am I gonna do _now?”_

Jack pries both the phone and the coffee mug from his hands. “I’m sure he’ll get up to something stupid next week. In the meantime, I added a few things to our bucket list?”

“Not in the mood for a movie.”

“Not that one.” Gabe can complain about the boredom all he wants, but Jack’s grin reminds him there are still some things that never get old, and plenty of other ways to pass the time.


	7. Spiderbyte, Widow impressed by Sombra's skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gradientdescent, who wanted some Spiderbyte with Widow impressed by Sombra's skills

Sombra’s room is always messy, strewn with empty energy drinks and collections of wires that seem to lead everywhere and nowhere at once. Today it is somehow messier still.

Widow knows better than to interrupt her while she works. Everything she does appears to be some elaborate magic, and her current position must be a summoning. Sombra sits on the floor in shorts and a faded black sports bra, doing something with several holoscreens at once. Components are spread in a semicircle in front of her, placed with some precision that eludes Widow’s understanding. 

She won’t interrupt, so instead she watches, enthralled, as Sombra picks up a cord, already plugged at one end into one of the computer parts before her. The pointed nailtips on her gloves slide along her scalp, feeling along the cybernetic implants there, before she seems to find what she’s searching for. She plugs the other end here, then she scowls at the screens in front of her again. 

Eventually Sombra scoffs, and she tosses a look back over her shoulder. “I can feel you watching,” she announces.

If Widow were capable of blushing, she might then. “What are you doing?” This is the easiest way to distract from any irritation. Sombra likes to pretend she doesn’t need anyone, but she does like an audience for her talents. She is always happy to explain, even if her mouth twists before she does it, as if bestowing her knowledge is beneath her. 

“Updating my drivers.” Widow nods like she knows more than the bare minimum of what that might mean, and Sombra snorts. There’s an amused curl to her lips now, though, which is an improvement already. “The implants are  _ technically  _ proprietary, so I have to, you know, clear a few hurdles when they need an update.”

“You’re stealing something.”

“Stealing, liberating, whatever. It’s not a big deal. Just annoying. Too many steps for something so little.” She shrugs, and Widow is distracted momentarily by the way her hair slides over her bare shoulder.

“‘Liberating’,” Widow repeats, curious. Sombra doesn’t use this word the way other people do, but it does mean  _ something  _ other than simple theft.

“Well, yeah, it’s stupid that they keep it so locked up, you know? Like the only people allowed to use their tech have to have money and live in the right country and…” Sombra flushes, and she must realize what she sounds like. “Why should the rich assholes get to have everything?” 

Widow smirks. “You work for rich assholes.”

“Yeah, but we’re not… Whatever, I owe somebody anyway, so I’m…” Her cheeks are brighter now, and she scowls back at Widow. “It’s not like that.”

Not altruistic, she means. “Of course not,” Widow agrees solemnly. She is teasing, but she won’t tell anyone either way. Who knows what someone might do if they suspect Sombra’s motivations? There is little risk someone might figure those out anyway; Widow herself only understands Sombra half the time. She doesn’t mind so much. She likes the mystery. “It looks very complicated,” she says, suspecting that some redirection might help here.

“It’s just fiddly. Like I said. Stupid hurdles.” Sombra doesn’t have that wary set to her shoulders now, though, so it was the right move, Widow thinks. Sombra plucks the cord free from her implants, then she scratches the false nails along her scalp, shaking her hair out. “See? Done already.” As she says it, her fingers fly over a keyboard, then she closes it all out with a quiet humph. 

“Very impressive,” Widow says to flatter her.

Sombra rolls her eyes, but it is difficult to be offended when she is moving closer, still in nothing more than the sports bra and shorts, hair spilling along the ridge of one collarbone. “You’re easily impressed.” 

“Only when it’s you. You make it easy.” She knows her voice could show more inflection, more emotion, but Sombra’s cheeks flare red again, and she thinks perhaps it doesn’t matter what she understands about Sombra, as long as she understands how to make that happen as often as possible.


	8. McHanzo, first kiss on impulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mataglap, who requested an impulsive first kiss for McHanzo

Despite his best efforts to make it appear that he’s flying by the seat of his pants, Jesse is a planner. Sure, sometimes those plans  _ do  _ form at the last possible second, and they have to change more often than he would like, but he  _ has  _ them. He knows what step ten is going to be before he takes step one. It is one of the few blessings bestowed on him by both Ashe and Gabe, people he’d otherwise like to pretend were nothing but bad influences.

He’s a planner. So he doesn’t much like not knowing what is going to happen next. He’s got too many bad run-ins with the unpredictable to be entirely comfortable with surprises. 

Genji’s brother is the very definition of unpredictable. (Then again, so is Genji; Jesse never could have predicted the furious cyborg he met to develop a near-bottomless capacity for forgiveness.) He can understand Hanzo’s motivations in a general sense, but on a day to day basis? The man is a mystery.

Jesse could have predicted his arrogance, his pride, his general anger and the endless sadness he seems to carry everywhere. If he’d given it more than a passing thought, he probably could have guessed Hanzo would be good looking; under the scars, so is Genji, so it’s not like that’s a surprise, exactly. He couldn’t in a million years have predicted that he might  _ like  _ Hanzo, though. That’s the first surprise. 

There are others too: Hanzo is funny, in his own way. He is conscientious, tidying up after himself and others. He commits these small acts of service, as if aiding the team in a thousand tiny ways will somehow repair the things he’s done wrong. 

Jesse catches him helping Mei carry things on several occasions. Hanzo plays guinea pig for Lúcio’s latest music tracks. He helps Lena decorate for Winston’s birthday. He even, somehow, convinces Jesse to try the latest batch of beer Torbjörn and Reinhardt have brewed.

It’s disgusting. Hanzo drinks three glasses anyway. He stops wincing halfway through the second. He helps Jesse hide that he barely had a few sips of his own. 

When the painful experience is over, Hanzo wordlessly holds out his sake gourd, offering Jesse the first sip to wash out the taste.

“You gonna give ’em notes later?” Jesse asks, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Much later,” Hanzo says with a grin. “When they won’t punish me by offering another batch.”

“Real magnanimous of you, helpin’ out like that.” Hanzo snorts, and he takes a long pull from the gourd, body looser than usual. “Sure it has nothin’ to do with the free beer.”

“I would rather pay, if that is the trade off.” He smiles, and it’s slightly crooked from the alcohol, and Jesse feels something unexpected squirm inside him. “I thought  _ you  _ might like it, though.”

That takes Jesse off guard, but a beat later, he thinks maybe it shouldn’t. “Tryin’ to find some way to help me out too, huh?” At Hanzo’s blink, he says, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What you’re doin’ with everybody.”

“Ah.” Hanzo’s cheeks are pink. Some of it is the alcohol, but Jesse thinks it’s still deeper than before. He doesn’t deny it.

“Can scratch me off your list. I don’t need anything.” He stops here. Their walk has brought him to his room, and now he is unsure whether to enter or stay in the hallway to see Hanzo off.

“Nothing?” Hanzo asks, brow knit like it’s something to be concerned about.

“Nope, nothin’.” It’s only once the words are out that Jesse realizes it might be a lie. It’s not one he told intentionally, but there it is, straining in the too-little space between them. 

Hanzo’s eyes rise to meet his. His tongue is as pink as his cheeks when it flicks out to wet his lips. “Not even—” He stumbles there, but it doesn’t matter. He finishes the thought anyway when he lurches forward, mouth rising to meet Jesse’s. His lips cling softly, molding to Jesse’s like they belong there.

When Hanzo pulls back, he looks as surprised as Jesse feels, eyes wide like he thinks he’s done something wrong. It takes Jesse a moment to find his voice. “That’s not somethin’ I need. You don’t owe me. But if you  _ want  _ to do that again…” Jesse can feel how stupid his smile must look, but Hanzo doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already leaning in again.


End file.
